


The Long Way Home

by cato_universe



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Scent Kink, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cato_universe/pseuds/cato_universe
Summary: Geralt comes back from a long Hunt. Lucky he has Jaskier to show him the way home.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 279





	The Long Way Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhNoMyBreadsticks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/gifts).



> To my lovely friend that wanted some soft scent kink. I hope you like this!
> 
> Thanks for everything <3 this one's for you.

The Hunt had been long.

It had been long and harsh as winter, full of too many lonely, grey days. When Geralt made it to the inn, although his Witcher Senses were still on high alert, or perhaps because of it, the world was a whirlwind of gold and red and grey, a storm of which Geralt was the center.

He was exhausted.

The inn, too, was a blur around him —color and sound and smell. When he was like this, Geralt felt detached from the world, severed from others, reduced to instinct and the need to stalk his prey. He could not stop to think, not when he was processing so much information, and he felt truly alone, savage, like he was the beast people often said he was.

Fear.

Geralt didn’t know anymore if it was his own or the people’s, when they noticed his Witcher eyes. Either way, Geralt didn’t care. There was a delicate scent he was hunting, grass and wood and comfort and safety, and it was so close, and he needed—

“Geralt!” a familiar voice said, and had Geralt been human enough to cry, he would have.

The room stank of fear, and selfishness and indifference, but the hands that grabbed him were soft and warm, and Geralt knew them. To them belonged the scent he was looking for, clean and gentle and loving, and Geralt let himself be guided, blind in his trust.

There was no more need to worry.

“Look at you,” the voice said, and Geralt sagged when a door closed behind them, separating them from the awful stench of the outside.

Hands touched his face, turning it this way and that, and Geralt allowed it. He was still tense, senses enhanced, so he took a deep breath, trying to drown himself in the familiar scent that tasted like heaven.

Another scent weaved its way through the air then, a citrusy smell of amusement that was all the warning Geralt had of a chuckle.

“Bath and bed,” the voice said, and that was just what happened.

Geralt allowed himself to be taken care of, bathed in delicious warm water that smelled of lavender and chamomile. And when he was dry and clean and warm in bed, Geralt felt human enough that he could talk, although with difficulty, the first word he’d pronounced in days.

“Jaskier,” he said, and Jaskier was immediately in his arms, warm skin pressed against warm skin. “Jaskier,” Geralt pleaded again, burying his nose in the base of Jaskier’s neck, scenting him.

Jaskier hushed him.

“Let me,” he asked, a new, heady smell weaving itself into the symphony that was Jaskier.

Geralt responded to the smell instinctively, blood pumping in his veins and fleeing south in answer to his lover’s arousal.

Jaskier was slow.

Because Geralt wouldn’t let him out of his arms, he didn’t have much space to work. However, he was used to it, and he was patient, and so he used fragrant oil to finger Geralt.

The slow pleasure was good, it was grounding, but Geralt needed more. He had been alone for too long, far too gone for such a long time, and he wanted, he needed—

“It’s okay, I know.” Jaskier said, softly. “I got you.”

He rearranged them on the bed so he was spooning Geralt, and Geralt was about to complain when he felt Jaskier slowly pushing into him, the stretch delicious and so, so sweet.

“Jaskier,” Geralt moaned, and the other man’s arousal became like wine in the air. Indeed Geralt felt drunk on it, on the way Jaskier rocked into him, slow and deep, on Jaskier’s hands pulling him back, holding him close, inside him, around him.

“Let go, beloved,” Jaskier whispered into his ear, voice raw with desire. “Let go.”

And Geralt did.

He closed his eyes, but still Jaskier surrounded him. His smell of safety, and love and arousal. He smelled of spring, of water, of rain, of all the things beautiful that grow. He smelled of sweat, and of soap, and of traces of wood because must have been handling his lute.

And then, under that, there was Geralt's own scent, magic and blood and power, and the way the two mingled drove the last of the wildness out of him, the mix making him crazy but in a completely different way.

Home.

Together, they smelled of home.

Geralt came with a muffled moan, the pleasure overflowing, slowly but overwhelming like the tide.

He was boneless in Jaskier’s embrace when his lover finished, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Without thinking, Geralt turned to kiss Jaskier, deep and uncoordinated and messy, and Jaskier welcomed him and returned his kiss with as much feeling.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered, and when he opened his eyes, they were golden once more.

“Welcome back,” Jaskier grinned, and kissed him again.


End file.
